


Come Take My Heart of Glass

by OpaqueXApathy



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Multiple Personalities, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Relationship(s), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:38:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6779992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpaqueXApathy/pseuds/OpaqueXApathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[CIVIL WAR SPOILERS - ALL OF THEM. STOP RIGHT HERE. ARE YOU GONE? OKAY GOOD. WATCHED IT ALREADY AND NEED SOME FICTION THERAPY? I GOT THAT!]  --- On the run now, just the two of them, Steve takes Bucky to an old friend and to the only group of people that can probably help. At least to find a temporary sanctuary until the heat dies down and the world stops coming after them for everything they've got. And while Bucky swims through exhaustion and old memories, Steve contemplates all that he's finally got back. And just who that might be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Take My Heart of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> So after Civil War I really needed some therapy. But what did I do? I went and wrote this and now I need MORE therapy. Wonderful yes? I am pretty talented at kicking my own ass. And this is very important! The X-men are strictly comic verse, X-men the Animated Series might even apply except well no one is a cartoon. Wolverine is short and hairy, Beast is... slightly taller and hairy and well Xavier is still bald. Not much to change! I love continuity so much I just had to get this out of my system. Because what IF legal rights and copyright issues weren't involved? Also I stole Forge. Well not really. Forge is an X-man. FANCY THAT.
> 
> Song Referenced (if you really want ALL the feels) -- 'The Man I Love' Dinah Washington  
> Title Song Referenced (if you want MORE feels) -- 'Fragile' Kygo
> 
> As always, thank you and thank you and thank you for reading and leaving kudos. It means a ton. A lot. It's the only thing that really keeps writers writing, especially this one. So thank you for everything. Even just taking the time to read this means a ton.

 

 

It wasn’t the silence in the backseat of the experimental aircraft he and Bucky had ‘borrowed’ that unsettled Steve Rogers. He’d glance back occasionally, even though he couldn’t see Bucky without looking directly over his shoulder, just to catch something. But there was nothing. Not a sound, barely even a breath, none that he could hear. It was like the man sitting behind him was a ghost. And he was. That’s what he’d been for decades while Steve had been asleep.

And Steve wasn’t kidding himself. Hydra brainwashing that deep didn’t die hard like old habits.

“Still with me, Buck?” Steve asked quietly. His voice sounded strangely calm to his ears. And he was calm. He was calmer and more settled than he’d been in days even though his shield was laying on the ground in a cold and desolate, abandoned Hydra base. Even though he’d been forced to fight one of his closest friends. A man he’d admit he’d almost loved. Years ago he would have said he’d loved Tony. But having Bucky back... Everything paled in comparison. Because Bucky was everything.

“Yeah.” Bucky replied quietly and Steve felt that calm, settled part of him was satisfied. That part of him, such a large a majority, that needed Bucky safe and sound and with him. Right there. His other half - it was like Bucky was essential pieces he needed. Solid ground that he’d been missing. That he'd had under his feet for nearly all his life and then, when he’d been gone...

Steve swallowed and needlessly adjusted some instrumentation on the panels in front of him - fixing his eyes out of the front windscreen and stilling his hands resolutely on the flight stick. That was over and in past now, for both of them. He had Bucky back and the consequences weren’t even consequences anymore. The Sakovia Accords were the result of a man bent on revenge. What he’d broken, Steve was confident could be fixed. And maybe that was naive optimism. But he’d always been an optimist.

In the end, when it all came down to it, he had Bucky back.

And he was confident he could set right anything else.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve said immediately, lifting his eyes as if there was a rear view mirror he could see Bucky with even though there wasn’t, surprised at the undercurrent of near alarm in his voice. Was he that scared still of losing Bucky? Like this was all some dream, some mix of a nightmare and a dream. And was some part of him still rattled at losing Bucky for so long and now... having pieces of him back but not knowing where exactly those pieces fit or how? To all the last thoughts, the answer was a resounding yes. To his credit, Steve was sure he still sounded like the calm and collected soldier and captain. But maybe he hadn’t fooled Bucky.

“I’m all right.” Bucky said. “I just... what now?”

Steve honestly hadn’t thought of that at first. Getting Bucky back had been everything. He’d let everything after go fuzzy after that single, driven purpose because he couldn’t think past getting Bucky back. It had been such an elusive thing. An all consuming drive that had kept Steve up nights longing for someone who may or may not exist anymore. And wondering if he even did. And between stopping the supposed other Winter Soldiers and the fight with Tony... no until recently he hadn't thought that far ahead.

“We’re going to pay a visit to an old friend of mine.” Steve said and then quieter, gentling his voice more. “It’s all right Buck. Try not to worry.”

“Don’t do that.”

Steve was already very much in tune with Bucky’s voice. He knew what was the Soldier and what was Bucky, that one was easy. And he knew which Bucky faded in-between the past and present, with something like startling clarity, drifting back and forth between all the damage done - years melting away like it was suddenly 1944. Steve was picking up the layers, he was coming to recognize just who was standing beside him and when. Usually the Bucky he’d known decades ago in a much different time didn’t last long. He faded in and out fairly quick. Gently though. Like Bucky’s mind was an ocean. And he was just drifting along with no control of the current.

It was a surprise that Bucky was still with him. He’d been for awhile now. And maybe it was his exhaustion but the Bucky behind him was so like the Bucky he’d lost... Steve was taking in every second. Just being with him. Taking in every word, wishing he could see his eyes, his face. But he couldn’t where he was sitting. And it was almost a good thing and a bad thing that he couldn't take him all in like he wanted. Because it was easy to forget what had happened to them and remember a past that was decades gone and buried.

“Don’t do what, Buck?” Steve smiled.

Bucky hesitated. “Don’t tell me everything’s all right when we both know it isn’t.”

Steve’s smile faltered and just like that, the past week momentarily hit him in a wave. Just briefly. Flashing before his eyes and settling in his gut like lead. But while he regretted a lot, he didn’t feel much guilt. And what was done was done. Now it was just picking up the pieces. And he knew he had more sunny view of it than Bucky had. Or even could. Bucky was in a place mentally where sunshine didn’t come in abundance or at all and Steve was feeling like everything was a little cloudy himself. But he did have a better vantage point.

“It will be okay, Bucky.”

There was another hesitation. “I used to sit up nights with you. Telling you the same thing.”

Steve checked his tone. But it was still Bucky. Wavering now towards the broken, current version of Bucky but still there. Back in the 40s. Just barely hanging on. Drifting on that current but hanging on with what he could. Fragile. That Bucky was fragile and fleeting. It didn’t usually have the strength to hang on or last long.

“So let me do the same for you.” Steve said. And he meant it.

It was his turn to sit up nights with Bucky. And tell him that everything was going to be okay. And Steve had a feeling that there was going to be quite a few of those nights now that he had him back.

 

After they landed, Bucky was reaching for the edge of the cockpit through his own exhaustion without much thought. Steve had set the aircraft down on an abandoned dock somewhere outside of New York but Bucky wasn’t altogether sure where they were going or what their next move would be. He was actually too tired to think about it. To think about all the sacrifices Steve had just made on his behalf. And he still did not feel worth of any of it.

He got his feet under him but Steve was there, helping him whether he needed it or not, strong arms and hands helping him out of the plane and to the solid ground of the cracked and weathered tarmac from off the wing of it. And he’d admit, he’d needed that help. Probably more of it than he’d say out loud. But they did it mostly together because Steve was hurting too. They were both in sorry shape.

Bucky’s arm was severed from just above the elbow down. What was gone had been incinerated and the melted metal, now cooled, was all that was left of his metal arm. Bucky knew he’d have to take the rest of the arm off and probably leave it. Steve was without his shield and Bucky was down an arm. He was assuming they’d have to go on the run now and he especially didn’t feel worthy of that sacrifice, that cost. But they had to disappear. He kept thinking ‘they’ even though the Soldier inside of him was itching to just vanish.

To make Steve’s life so much easier by just disappearing and probably doing the world a favor by killing himself. Ending it all. He should have and he’d thought of it. He’d come close, taking a lethal amount of a homemade mix of pain killers and cooked up chemicals. What the Soviet had taught him should he ever be compromised using whatever was available. And seeing Steve Rogers on that bridge... he’d been damn compromised. But he’d saved himself at the last minute and why Bucky couldn’t even guess. His head had been a complete disaster, _he_ had been a complete disaster, but there were those memories of a time so very long ago that he just couldn’t ignore. That haunted his every step. Gave him hope where there was absolutely none.

Bucky couldn’t let Steve go. And so he hadn’t been able to let himself go.

And now he felt selfish and unsure.

“All right. We don’t have too far to go but we need to get moving.” Steve said, Bucky’s arm over broad shoulders, held close against Steve’s side. And his warmth felt so good, Bucky was lulled by it. It was hard to keep his eyes open being this near to Steve. So near he could smell him, the hint of his aftershave which was different subtly. But the same. And it was so soothing that he could just drift, drift away just enough to hear distant music, big band. Something melodic, the smell of cigars and heavy smoke from a bar, lights dim and a small, blonde man with blue eyes smiling at him from across the table and all the dames in the place couldn’t turn Bucky’s head right then-

“Hey, Buck.” Steve said, hugging him tighter and giving him just a little shake, the hand on his wrist gripping firmly. “You with me?”

Bucky drew in a breath, more like it was pulled into his lungs out of some reflex, and blinked. “Yeah.” he managed. “Yeah I’m fine.” he lied. Because he really wasn’t. Being near Steve was making those flashbacks so vivid and they came on so sneakily. Lulled him like a siren song and then suddenly he was gone entirely. To the past or to the future. To decades long dead or right into the Soldier, who out of reflex seemed to snap his brain back to the Soviet programming like some sort of protection protocol. When really it was the worst thing that could happen.

Steve didn’t push and Bucky was relieved. But his touch was, while still firm and grounding and present. It was gentler somehow. Like Bucky was fragile and he was taking great care to hold him together with his own two hands. And Steve Rogers could do it. If anyone could do it, he could because Bucky didn’t want to let go. Steve was the storm near to causing a shipwreck out of Bucky but he was also the lighthouse guiding Bucky in. So for now he’d keep following that light.

The old motorcycle they found in the hangar chained up under some tarps didn’t help Bucky much. It provoked a flood of more images from a time definitely dead but he rode them out with slow, calm breaths. Just let himself wade through and float, let his own exhaustion make the experience a lot less unsteady.

And he got a good grip on Steve with his one good hand, the one he had left, and leaned into the man’s back which was noticeably missing a shield. Steve took off once he was sure Bucky was settled and to parts unknown but Bucky didn’t ask. He trusted Steve. He trusted what he knew of the man, he trusted what he didn’t. He just trusted Steve Rogers. Especially with pieces of him he wasn’t sure still existed.

Steve reached down and grasped a hold of the hand and arm Bucky had around his waist and Bucky let out a slow, somewhat shaky breath against the dark blue leather beneath a cut up cheek - blood staining the uniform. He let the rumble of the bike lull him into a false sense of security, molding his body to Steve’s, the cool wind in his hair and against his face taking him somewhere else entirely.

_“You’re drunk, Bucky.” Steve actually sounded a little surprised. And definitely unhappy about the observation._

_Bucky let out a laugh that was just a little bit hysterical, reaching out to steady himself on a bony shoulder and a pronounced collar bone but not too much weight. Not hardly. The other found a brick wall and if he could only tell the other man. If he could only tell Steve just why he was drunk. Why all the women in the world weren’t doing a damn thing for him and all the cheap booze he could find wasn’t making the ache in his chest go away. The ache that kicked up a notch every time he looked into those baby blues and got hopelessly, and stupidly lost. Those blue eyes looking at him now with concern, a look that could be easily mistake for love, confusion there too. Steve was struggling to understand what was wrong but he wanted to help. He always wanted to help but Bucky didn’t deserve it. He really didn’t._

_“I’m just sick, Stevie.” Bucky laughed. The nearest thing to a confession he could ever and would ever make. And his head fell back against a brick wall, hard enough to hurt, but maybe that would knock some sense into him. But he doubted it. Not in this lifetime anyway. The gray sky and the cool breeze weren’t anything like those blue eyes though. And that helped. And somehow made it all impossibly worse._

_“Come on, Buck. Let’s get you home.”_

_Small hands found him, one grasping a hold of his jacket and the other wrapping around his waist. Bucky let Steve take whatever weight he could to make him feel like he was doing something, like he was helping, but kept to his own feet so that he didn’t knock them both over. And it was a strange set of circumstances but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It was usually him taking care of Steve, fussing relentlessly over the smaller man until he got angry glares and even more adorable pouts but sometimes he didn’t even stop then. Bucky always let him keep his stubborn pride but he was always there to remind Steve he could be a little punk. And to stop forgetting about himself so damn much._

_And Bucky was just a little embarrassed. Falling apart like this. Falling apart around the one man that meant the most, deserved it the least. But here Steve was - disapproving but picking up the pieces without thought._

Bucky blinked, slowly, unfocused eyes catching on the pavement and the lines of the road flashing steadily by as Steve skillfully maneuvered the bike out of New York with one hand. The other still had him in a warm grip.

It was about a twenty minute drive to wherever it was that they were going. But it definitely wasn’t what Bucky had been expecting when they arrived. The massive iron gate they stopped in front of was emblazoned with an ‘x’ at the very top and the mansion behind it almost dwarfed the gate in comparison. Even as close as they were to the gate. The perspective made Bucky a little dizzy but that could be the way the bike was tilting, shifting as Steve reached out for a security panel. Bucky could tell by the way he moved, careful not to topple them both over, that he was sore and hurting. They’d have to take stock of injuries.

The gate opened after scanning Steve’s thumb and Steve’s other hand never left Bucky’s arm, the blonde shifting the bike back upright as the gate started to open.

“Who the hell are your friends?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask.

“People that I think will understand our situation better than anyone right now.”

  
Steve was helping him off the bike as the door to the mansion opened. They’d stopped a measured distance away and Bucky felt appropriately pummeled, but like he’d had a lot worse, when Steve pulled his only remaining arm back over his shoulders. And just like that, he was tucked back up against a warmer than normal, muscular and leather clad Steve Rogers all over again. It was incredibly grounding. Like whatever happened, wherever they went, so long as those hands were on him - he wasn’t going to come apart at the seams.

But that didn’t stop him from watching the people at the door with a wary, mistrustful amount of suspicion. One arm, a hell of a beating, didn’t matter. He’d do it all again right by Steve’s side and he’d sure as hell do anything to keep him safe.

A muscular short man with upswept, black hair wearing plaid and jeans motioned the others to stay back - jogging over as Steve stepped forward with Bucky at his side. But his stride slowed seeing Bucky, to something like a more concerned, quick walk. Something more cautious. But not afraid. And he was... It was like he should be familiar but he absolutely wasn’t. The Soldier definitely assessed him as a threat. But Bucky took note and dismissed it. He trusted Steve.

“Rogers.” the man said, voice gruff but concerned. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Long story, Logan.” Steve smiled tiredly, tilting his head towards Bucky.

“Gotta ask. Do you remember me?” the shorter man asked Bucky, blue eyes taking in what was left of Bucky’s arm.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.” Bucky said wearily.

Steve’s grip tightened on him just a bit and Bucky had the sudden idea that this really short man was someone he should have remembered. It felt like he should. But all the memories were completely and totally gone.

“Come on. You can explain whatever you can later.”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Don’t worry about that, Cap.” Logan said. “We already saw it on the news. And it ain’t like the X-men aren’t used to being criminals.”

The crowd at the door parted and Bucky was all at once grateful. Because it was too much. It was too many people. Even the lights of the mansion, while they weren’t bright, were making him feel painfully exposed. And his arm was useless and destroyed. And the anxiety of it all hit him all at once. Being surrounded, people talking around him, Steve answering questions - someone calling for a man named Hank. It was too much.

“Hey, Buck-” Steve’s voice had a way to cut through it all immediately. Warm, deep, calm. Suddenly Bucky just heard it. “Hey, Buck. Eyes on me.”

Bucky found blue eyes, staring back at him with concern and worry, Steve quickly reaching up to take his helmet off - unlatching the strap under his chin. “Look at me, Buck. Breathe-”

Right. He wasn’t breathing. And... he was on the floor? Bucky suddenly realized he was sitting. And holding onto Steve in a grip with the only hand that he had left that was probably bruising. He also realized that there was suddenly a lot less people in the room. Even the man Steve had called Logan was on the far side, near the door. But he wasn’t alone. There was a man in a wheelchair beside him, bald. Well tailored suit. His eyes weren’t unkind. The opposite. But he was cool and collected while Bucky felt like he was spinning out. And the contrast was... good and bad.

Steve stopped talking to him, Bucky hadn’t been really making out the words, it was the tone he’d been grasping onto - and looked over his shoulder at Logan and the other man. And Bucky couldn’t see the look but Logan was pulling at his jeans and sitting back on his heels, down on his level, just as Steve was turning his eyes back to Bucky. “Easy bub. Just take it easy.” he said, raising both of his hands for him to see.

“I’m fine.” Bucky said, more than a little embarressed. He’d fallen apart. Right in front of strangers. And potential threats, the Soldier chastised. “I’m fine. Steve I’m fine.”

“All right, Buck.” Steve eased an arm around his shoulders, knees on the carpet, one pressing against his hip. “This is Professor Xavier. And this is Logan. Do you remember Logan?”

“No.” Bucky swallowed heavily, meeting the eyes of the man casually crouched beside Xavier. “I knew you? How?” He hoped he didn’t know the Soldier.

“We did some time together in World War II. Rogers and I go way back.”

“Bucky?” Xavier asked. “Can I call you that? Or do you prefer something else?”

“No that’s... I don’t know.” Bucky winced. It felt like that was just for Steve. That’s who he was around Steve. That’s who he was to Steve. Bucky had no idea what or who he was to anyone else. Nothing felt right, everything felt bizarre. But when he was standing next to Steve he could say, with complete confidence, that he was Bucky. He was his Bucky.

“That’s all right.” Xavier assured him. “I understand you’re confused. For now, we should get you both to the infirmary for medical attention. We’ll speak more about it later.”

“You got him?” Logan asked as he stood.

Steve nodded and Bucky did what he could to help as Steve helped him to his feet, more careful than before and that made something inside Bucky twinge. Something about Xavier made him inexplicably nervous and he didn’t know why. Part of him wanted to cave to those strangely understanding eyes, calm and unwavering. Kind but intense in their own way. Like he knew everything without having to be told. Bucky remembered some of those types in Hydra. The shrinks mostly. The ones that crawled into his head to make something useable, compliant. But something about Xavier didn’t strike him as any of those monsters from Hydra.

“How much do you know about mutants, bub?” Logan asked Bucky.

The Soldier immediately dregged up what he knew, mostly tactical information, the barest but the most important details. Bucky himself knew enough just by being exposed to the world off and on over the past century. “Enough.”

“Our doctor can be a bit startling for some.” Xavier explained. “But I assure you that Dr. McCoy is entirely docile and harmless to those who mean no harm. We’d no doubt be lost without him.”

Bucky was trying to wrap his head around what he was saying but then he was led into a room with a big... blue furred creature in a lab coat and glasses and all Bucky could do was stare at him for a second. But Dr. McCoy seemed to take it all in stride, reaching out a very large clawed hand towards him with an easy smile. “Easy now. Let’s take a look at the both of you. From what I witnessed on the television, you’ve both had a very discourteous past few days.”

“That would be a word for it.” Steve breathed a bit of a laugh and Bucky realized he was being handed over to the doctor. And only Steve doing it made Bucky relent and allow being passed over to the large, waiting hands of Dr. McCoy. But Steve was there again. Just switching sides, helping Bucky back to a medical bed that a was a strange and deceiving mix of something normal. The entire room was like that. Very little medical equipment or very cleverly disguised medical equipment.

A woman with striking white hair, contrasting sharply with her dark skin, put a hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “I contacted Forge. He should be here very soon.”

Logan said to Steve. “Try to do some good in this world and you get screwed. I’m sorry you had to get bad end of the stick, cap. Didn’t see it coming on your end.”

“I didn’t either.” Steve murmured, troubled blue eyes gazing down at Bucky and Bucky held those eyes with his own. Anything to keep his mind off the glaringly bright lights, the table he was on, and the hands checking him over for injuries. Not like Hydra. It was nothing like Hydra he firmly told himself. While the medical equipment was just as advanced, it wasn’t cold. What was happening wasn’t unkind. He was being treated like a person. It wasn’t Hydra.

“Ororo. If you could assist me-”

“Of course, doctor. What do you need?”

That bestial face was surprisingly friendly when it came into Bucky’s line of sight, leaning over him with a warm smile. “This is Ororo Monroe. We call her Storm. She’s going to help me with your injuries and with that of your friend here, do you have any objections? I promise you that nothing will happen without your permission.”

Bucky wasn’t used to having a choice. And was grateful when Steve echoed the sentiment out loud, stroking a hand through Bucky’s hair and over his head. “He hasn’t had a say in a very long time. Just go easy.”

“Of course.” McCoy agreed.

“We’ll leave you to it, Hank.” Xavier said. “Let me know when you’re finished.”

“Absolutely, professor. It shouldn’t take long.” And then he was pointing to the other side of the room. “That sheet please, my dear. His arm, or what remains of it, is in a very awkward position-”

“Steve first-” Bucky interrupted him. “I’m fine.”

“No, Buck.” Steve’s eyes crinkled with amusement at the corners. “You first. Just this once for me, huh?”

Steve was passed a cup of water and some pills and Bucky heard that they were pain killers. But he took them from Steve anyway, leaned up to check, and then pushed them back into Steve’s hand. It was like the Soldier, and his programming, was working on overdrive. The more scared and human he felt, lying on his back on the medical exam table under the lights, the more he compulsively felt like he couldn’t stop himself. But Steve looked strangely, and a little sadly touched, quickly taking the pills and pulling his chair closer to Bucky’s bedside.

“Everything’s okay, Buck.”

He was shaking. And that was annoying. But he wasn’t cold. And that was even more annoying. His head was reeling. Bucky felt like the Soldier was trying to take over to get control of how out of control he felt and it scared him. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to lose whatever of him was left.

“Bucky-” Steve sounded worried and that kicked Bucky’s anxiety up a notch or twelve. And then suddenly Steve was standing, standing over him, slipping a hand under his neck and the other settling warmly on the side of his face. “Bucky.” he soothed. “You’re all right. Everything’s all right.”

Bucky immediately reached up and grabbed a hold of his arm, grasping onto his uniform, holding on to the sound of his voice. But the words he said came out Russian and he winced, giving Steve an angry, upset look. Angry at himself. Desperate not to really and totally lose it. But he was shaking and he couldn’t stop-

"Is he having a seizure?" Steve asked, worried eyes meeting Dr. McCoy's.

"No. No he's not. I believe it's an anxiety attack. Ororo quickly now. Bring Piotr."

And there was talking around Bucky now and it was soothing but it wasn’t make any sense and if he could only stop shaking. If he could only just stop shaking.

 

Steve watched Bucky sleep. It had been six hours since they’d arrived at the X-Mansion. Patching up Bucky and himself hadn’t been hard and hadn’t taken much time after they’d finally managed to get him calmed down. Steve had barely been able to hold the panicked man down and he couldn’t blame him for spiraling. Especially not under the circumstances. But the X-men had handled it all in stride. With a lot of Russian from Colossus in a soothing and reasonable tone, a lot of talking from Steve even if Bucky couldn’t understand him at that point, and a sedative or two - they’d put Bucky under enough to be treated.

His arm... Steve hadn’t met Forge until today. But between him and Beast, they’d managed to remove the rest of it completely. And Forge was working on rebuilding a prototype. Something not manufactured by Hydra. But seeing Bucky laying on the bed, thoroughly medicated and sleeping soundly, looking a little pale - his face stitched up, other parts of him bandaged, and with that one arm missing... He looked so vulnerable. Small.

Steve never thought he’d ever think of Bucky as ‘small’.

After the Serum, Steve had adjusted to being not only on the same level as Bucky but in a lot of ways bigger. Bucky had always been bigger. Not just in height but in personality, spirit. Back then, he’d lit up a room without trying. With the flash of a smile or that laughter of his that Steve could still hear, contagious. Beautiful. Bucky was damn beautiful. And he still was.

Watching him sleep now... Steve felt so protective of the man it nearly hurt. And now the questions were all back. Over the past week he’d gotten more back of Bucky than he’d ever thought possible but he knew that the Soldier was there. He’d seen it. Fought the Soldier. Warred with him and nearly lost his life because he’d refused to fight back. It seemed now that he and the Soldier had reached a truce of some type. But Bucky frequently drifted between the decades and his Bucky was there and then he was gone again. And even when he was there it was close but not complete. Not quite. But Steve would have never thought he’d ever get back so much.

Bucky was still broken. And those pieces weren’t fitting together. And Steve just wanted to make it right. But he’d love all the pieces even if he couldn’t.

Steve looked up, feeling a hand on his shoulder, and relaxed with a soft smile at the steaming mug offered to him by a three fingered hand. He hadn’t heard Nightcrawler come in and he hadn’t heard him teleport either but he hadn’t exactly been paying attention. Steve had been too focused on Bucky.

“I thought this might help to ease your mind. It helps me.” Kurt said softly, voice pitched quiet so as not to disturb Bucky, German accent thick but nothing about it was abrasive. But that was Kurt. Infinitely soft spoken and kindhearted.

“Thanks.” Steve smiled, taking the cup from him and giving it a curious look. It smelled a lot like chamomile but that wasn’t quite it. Either way, it was smooth to the taste. Not too hot. Warm enough to shake off a bit of the chill of a cold New York spring. And calming.

“If you would ever like to talk...”

Steve found another smile and gave Kurt a grateful look, “I might need to talk to a priest at some point. Couldn’t hurt.”

Kurt smiled, breathing a quiet laugh, but he reached out and put a hand on Steve’s arm. “Dinner will be soon and we’ll bring something to you.” he nodded to Bucky. “The good doctor said that he can eat if he feels hungry. What we gave him should be wearing off soon.”

“What _did_ you give him?” Steve asked, shifting a concerned look to Bucky. It wasn’t like he was unconscious... But he was out. Like he was sleeping very deeply. It almost seemed restful. Bucky was relaxed and while he was pale, he didn’t look to be in any pain. Physical or otherwise.

“A sedative specifically designed to incapacitate Logan.” Kurt smiled but he looked a little apologetic. “Dr. McCoy wasn’t sure how effective the super soldier serum was on your Bucky as it was on you.”

“Ah.” Steve said. That explained it.

“Yah.” Kurt agreed, reaching up and giving Steve’s shoulder a brief squeeze. And those hands, while always as gentle as the man himself, were surprisingly strong but warm. “If you need anything, no one is far.”

Steve hesitated. “You and Logan...”

Kurt’s tail flickered behind him. “We were.” he nodded. “So I...” he shifted his golden gaze to Bucky, eyes alight even in the cloudy light filtering into the room. “In many ways I understand, mien fruend.” he gave Steve a brief smile. “I will leave you before I wake him.”

“Thank you for this.” Steve said, gesturing carefully with the cup. “And I just might take you up on that talk. So thank you for that too.”

“Bitte schon.” Kurt’s hand left his shoulder and he left quietly, shutting the door just as quietly behind him.

Bucky suddenly stirred and Steve was getting up from his chair straight away, setting the tea aside on the nightstand beside the bed. They’d given them a suite of sorts. It was on the top floor of the mansion and more like a small loft apartment than an actual room, complete with a kitchen and their own bathroom. It was sparse and minimally decorated but Steve almost appreciated that. And he appreciated their own space. In a way it felt like intruding less than taking up a spare bedroom.

“Stevie turn off that music.”

Steve’s breath caught at the words that fell from Bucky’s lips, eyes still closed but restlessly shifting. Like something was keeping him awake. And it was his tone. There was Bucky again. His Bucky. And just like that, Steve couldn’t breathe and his heart was beating fast.

“What music, Buck?” Steve asked softly.

“‘The Man I Love’... right? That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

Steve’s heart just about broke but in the most bittersweet way. It hurt. But the love that overcame him just then far outweighed the pain. And just like that he was twenty four and it was 1947. Bucky had gotten drunk that night, they’d argued, Steve had been ditched by a girl and that had made Bucky pretty upset - far more than usual. Instead of taking the first dame home that threw herself at him, Bucky had just drank instead, ranting in a small booth to Steve about how girls just didn’t know better.

“Yeah, Buck. That’s the one.” Steve managed, stroking a hand over Bucky’s chest. Just like he had that night, when he’d gotten him home and back to their apartment. Unable to get Bucky out of his clothes, just guiding him to the bed to collapse and sleep off the alcohol.

“On second thought just leave it. Okay?”

Steve got  a sudden thought and quickly took out his cellphone. It only took a second to find the song Bucky was talking about and put it on repeat, setting the phone face down on the nightstand with the speaker up. And if the memories hadn’t been enough, the song was like another life. Another life all over again, right there instead of miles away, decades away. And Steve hesitated for a moment.

While his body had changed, finally letting him be the person he’d always been, right now he almost felt guilty about he wanted to just curl up next to Bucky like he had that night - right up against his chest, tucked against side. Bucky had immediately wrapped an arm protectively around Steve's then much smaller frame, murmuring senseless words, still ranting about that girl who’d ditched him. And other things that Bucky had claimed to forget but Steve would never have.

That Steve was beautiful. That his heart was as beautiful as he was and that it would take someone awfully special to deserve him. That the girl hadn’t known what she’d been missing and that it was her loss. And Bucky had brushed a kiss into his hair and told him that he’d always keep him safe. That he cared. That he’d never leave him.

Steve’s heart had nearly broken in half in that moment. Because he’d loved Bucky. But he knew a guy like him, well couldn’t have a guy. But especially not Bucky. Not charming, handsome Bucky who could have any girl he wanted with just a wink and a smile. It was like... In that moment it was like Bucky loved him too. And ‘The Man I Love’ would be permanently etched into his brain, branded as it had played over the radio in their drafty, small apartment with a broken window.

So he only hesitated a fraction of a second, still feeling a bit guilty. Bucky was... Bucky was shattered. But Steve was weak. He was even weaker with that song playing over the phone, not all that much clearer in quality than originally. And so he eased down, mindful that he wasn’t nearly as small but Bucky wasn’t exactly small either. They were two grown men. He could do this. He could allow it. But it didn’t ease the guilt much.

But then Bucky clumsily reached out with his only arm and pulled him down and Steve just went, carefully easing close, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder - lifting a hand to cover his heart. Bucky’s arm wrapped around his middle and Steve... Steve let out a slow breath. Bucky didn’t smell like alcohol, he smelled clean. He didn’t smell like his aftershave or cologne, they probably didn’t make it anymore. And Steve was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than he’d been but... In that moment it was everything.

In that moment, for the first time in the modern years he’d been conscious and awake, Steve felt completely and absolutely whole. Safe. Complete. In no other way he’d thought possible ever again.

 

 _“... Maybe I shall meet him Sunday._  
_Maybe Monday, maybe not._  
_Still I'm sure to meet him one day,_  
_Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day._

 _He'll build a little home just meant for two_  
_From which I'll never roam; who would? Would you?_  
_And so all else above_  
_I'm waiting for the man I love.”_

 

 

FIN


End file.
